Anger for Glory
by Galadriel
Summary: Ron is writing a journal. A bit angsty. The title isn't all too pertinant. Please r/r.


Anger for Glory

By Galadriel

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A/N: I suppose that this is a fake angst, but it is almost how I think when I'm at my lowest point. I think that it is almost the truth when Ron is depressed. It wasn't meant to be angsty; it was meant to be sort of expository. Ron is writing in a secret journal at the time, peoples. If you think that I should write more, please include that in any reviews you type. Please review, if you want to flame, go right ahead. Spam is evil, however. If you cannot read the words, highlight the whole document. On with the fic!

I suppose that I'm not very good at telling people how I feel. I know for a fact that I'm not good at writing things. I never have been. There was too little practice at home: anything that I wrote would be read and ridiculed by Fred and George, Percy would scoff, and Ginny would be naïve as to what it meant. She would always ask what it meant, and I was embarrassed to explain, because some of it was anger towards her. It shouldn't have been anger towards her. At the time, I was a young child. I thought that the only reason that I didn't stand out was because of my siblings. Now I know better. I'm just not a very outstanding person. I'm always second best, or, in my own family, seventh best. Percy is smart, Bill is cool, Charlie is captain of the Quidditch team, always the brave one, Fred and George are funny, and Ginny is the only girl. I am always just the angry, whining, one. I always have been a whiny person. This whole thing, I suppose, is whining. But nobody will read this. Nobody can read this. It, like Riddle's journal, shall forever remain secret, and only the person who breaks its spell can read it. Hermione can't even break the spell. I'm smarter than I'm given credit for, but only in the way of curses or powerful spells. I'm not so great at some of the lesser ones. Whenever Hermione and Harry are off doing whatever it is that heroes do, I can research. I spend so much time in the back of the library. 

Hermione and Harry: my best friends. I'm always standing in their shadow; I have to live up to them. Harry is ever the brave one, always getting all the lucky breaks. He is considered a hero, but really, I could be just as much of one, if anyone ever let me try. I could learn all of the things that he does, only he gets everything. At first, when he flew in Quidditch, I thought that maybe I could do something like that, too. I was happy. Now, time after time, he's pushed into the limelight, while I stay in the shadows. He gets everything. He gets all of the attention, absolutely everything. Sure, he takes the bad with the good, but in the end, he always gets the glory. And the attention. He certainly gets her attention, though he doesn't notice. She hangs off his every word, but he has never noticed. Not once did he realize that she likes him. Not once did either of them, for all their virtues, realize that I like her. Hermione. I didn't quite realize it, not until it was too late. That was the day of the Yule Ball. You know, if anyone were to ask somebody what I would think of for the Patronus, they would probably say Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret. For a while, that was it. I was angry with him for most of my Hogwarts life, but now I see that the anger was only there because I was expected to be angry, because anger was where I stood out most. Now, I'm even shallower, in a way. Do you remember the day before Harry got there for the Quidditch Tournament? Hermione got to my house the afternoon before Harry did, remember? That is my Patronus. That brilliant afternoon. I didn't realize that I liked her then; if I had, I probably would have made a fool of myself. I'm like that. I probably would have gotten her mad at me, because anger is the only way that I know how to deal with emotion. Any emotion only gets anger from me, because anger is my only chance at glory. I'm second best with her, too. Second best. Do you know who first best is? The boy who lived. He doesn't notice it, of course, he has never noticed. I do not really like him. I am his friend because I have to be, but he is really too superficial for me. Dumbledore likes him, yes, and Dumbledore is wise, but Harry lives only in the world of what is real and tangible. I don't think he has ever set thought into my world. The world of thoughts. My world is the world that I have to live in, because only in there can I shine. I live too much for glory: I've psychoanalyzed myself enough to realize that. Maybe I shouldn't… but what else should I live for? What else _is_ there for me to live for? I don't know. Maybe you can tell me.

There are a lot of things that I don't know, but there is even more that I _do_ know. At the top of that list is that I am a bad person. I'm not evil or anything, I'm just not a good person. Maybe people don't see me for that. Maybe they don't realize that depression is eating away at my almost non-existent soul. I don't have a soul anymore, but I have thoughts. I don't let those thoughts and that depression out. I let out only anger.


End file.
